


been waiting for you

by stilinskitrash



Series: gendrya one shots [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, One Shot, arya returns from her western travels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 15:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18995722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskitrash/pseuds/stilinskitrash
Summary: Arya returns, as unsure of her place in the world as when she left. The one certainty that remains intact is that she wants to see Gendry Baratheon, but time has changed them both.





	been waiting for you

**Author's Note:**

> ~oops i did it again~  
> this became much bigger than i intended... anyway just enjoy this imagining of Arya returning from sea and coming back to Gendry because I refuse to except any other ending okay thnx

When Arya returned from her travels west, four years since the Long Night and four years since Daenerys Targaryen’s rise and fall, she returned a different person.

She hadn’t thought she could change much more. She’d already been so many things; Arya Stark, Arya Horseface and Arya Underfoot. She’d become the Ghost of Harrenhal, the Cat of the Canals, the Hero of Winterfell. She’d been poor and beaten and blind and victorious. She’d won and she’d lost.

Across the Sunset Sea, no one knew her as anything. Another blank slate, another fresh start. It should’ve felt better than it did. 

Not to say that her four years west weren’t full of adventures, both good and bad. The stories she had to tell were unbelievable, full of people and races and animals and plants all previously undiscovered by her side of the world. She saw wonders and atrocities, and quenched her thirst for adventure until she was almost sick from the want for something familiar.

She’d known homesickness. Arya had wanted nothing but the comfort of Winterfell during her younger years in King’s Landing. Fighting for her home was one of the things she had never wavered on, never accepted less for, and never compromised on.

Arya had found home away from home only a handful of times whilst not at Winterfell. Home had never been as clear as it had been in her father’s smile, in the way he looked after her in King’s Landing. She’d seen it again in the bond that formed between her and some boys destined for the wall, and  _ home _ had glimmered in the eyes of one of those same boys when he’d proposed to her years later. 

During her third year away from Westeros and everyone she knew, Arya came to terms with the fact that part of her leaving had been driven by fear. She didn’t want to be Arya Horseface or the Ghost of Harrenhal, and she hadn’t asked to be the Hero of Winterfell. Arya Stark of House Winterfell suited her just fine, but after the war, she was scared of what came next. 

Sansa would be Queen in the North, respected and loved. Jon took the Black again, and Bran was the bloody king. What place in Westeros was left for Arya? She’d been offered the title of the Lady of Storm’s End, but she’d felt like no lady. The look on Gendry Baratheon’s face after she rejected his proposal visited in her sleep like a plague during her time west. He had been home too once, but everything had changed, hadn’t it?

When she arrived at Winterfell, Arya felt a hundred years older. She wasn’t much taller, granted, but her body and her mind had become even more worn than before she’d left. People bowed when she passed on her horse, murmuring and cheering at her arrival. Arya was stunned that anyone even recognised her.

Her sister was as beautiful as ever. Arya had hated the way Sansa had styled herself at King’s Landing; dripping in gold and jewels, her hair plaited and knotted to hell. She had looked like a caricature of the other ladies in the Red Keep, and served as a constant reminder of how different Arya was to those ladies. Sansa Stark had come into her own since then. 

Dark, auburn locks flowed freely down her shoulders and back, kept in place only by her crown. Every inch of her commanded respect, and she carried herself more regally than any queen Arya had ever seen, and she’d seen a lot of queens from every reach of the world by now. Her older sister’s eyes welled with tears as she came to greet her in the courtyard, seemingly having heard quickly of Arya’s arrival. She wrapped Arya in an embrace that was tight and long, like no form of affection her sister had ever shared with her before.  _ Home,  _ Arya thought.

A feast was called in Arya’s honour, but she was happiest when she spoke with her sister alone after all the celebrations had ended. Words flowed freely and rapidly from her sister’s mouth, as if her arrival had rejuvenated Sansa. She spoke of how Westeros had changed. A year since the North’s independence, Dorne and the Iron Islands had also declared theirs. Bran was a good and wise king. Jon wrote often from the Wall, detailing expeditions and writing of his exploits beyond the Fist of the First Men. Sweetrobin Arryn was to marry in the Vale. House Hightower took Highgarden from Ser Bronn of the Blackwater before long.

“What of Gendry Baratheon?” Arya asked, sipping her wine and trying to be as emotionless about the enquiry as possible. She’d wondered of his fate as Lord of Storm’s End for too long to not know. 

Sansa pursed her lips, silent for a moment.

“He’s still alive, yes?” Arya pushed.

Her sister took another drink, “he married, that much is true.”

It shouldn’t have felt like as much of a punch in the stomach as it did. Arya bit down on her lower lip, nodding curtly. She couldn’t have expected him to wait around for her, not after she let him down. He had a duty and responsibilities to fulfill; she could hardly punish him for it. She’d loved him, once, or maybe twice, and that feeling of a tug in her gut at the sight or mention of him would never really fade.

“He married,” Sansa continued, “and she gave him two beautiful daughters. During the second birth, it was…” her sister faltered, staring down at her cup. “It was too much for her. She passed and so did the babe.”

Arya’s head felt like it was spinning. A sick feeling crawled its way up her throat as she imagined the pain he must’ve gone through, the agony at losing his wife and child.

“How long ago was this?” She managed, feeling vaguely numb.

“Oh, not long. He seemed to refuse to marry at all the first two years he was lord. Pressure from other lords ushered in a marriage eventually, and their child wasn’t soon after really. His wife died a little under a year ago.” 

Arya couldn’t quite pick apart Sansa’s tone when she spoke about it. Part of her seemed far away, detached from its cruel reality. Her sister hadn’t mothered any children of her own, or expressed an interest in another marriage, but Arya had always thought Sansa would’ve made the perfect mother and bride. Time and circumstances had been cruel to her sister over the years though, and Arya hardly blamed her for seeking what power lay in solitude. There would always be time in the future, if she chose; Sansa was still revelling in her youth.

“There were rumours.” Sansa looked up at Arya suddenly. “There were rumours that he was purposefully refusing proposals, because he was waiting for someone.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, making her breathing feel heavier.

Sansa hardly needed to say anymore. Arya never been good at keeping secrets from her sister.

“I was scared, I wasn’t ready.”

Sansa nodded. “Will you be making plans to travel to Storm’s End?”

“Would that be wise?” she asked, genuinely asking for her sisters guidance. Westeros could change a lot in a single year, much more could change in four. She needed time to adjust to the political climate, to learn of new alliances and falling outs.

“I was always afraid that lordship would be too heavy on his shoulders. He came to Winterfell, unknown except amongst few and friendless except for one. No allies, but plenty of enemies that came along with the Baratheon title. I certainly didn’t know or trust him, but  _ you _ did, and I’ve learnt to. I think a friendly face after all this time would be welcomed.”

Warmth overcame Arya, and she squeezed her sisters hand tightly. They sat beside the hearth, cosy in the heat of the fire and happy in familiar in company. Though but two of their pack, it felt good to be reunited. 

“It is good to be home,” Arya mused.

“But you must tell me of all your tales west of Westeros,” Sansa implored, and they stayed up until dawn peeked over the top of the skyline, with Arya recounting her travels and Sansa listening intently.

 

It was two weeks before Arya left Winterfell. 

She allowed herself time to readjust, to greet the new lords and ladies and speak to the common folk and revisit her favorite spots. Most evenings she spent in the Godswood, permit the weather was pleasant enough for her to stay out there and mull about her own thoughts and feelings. Westeros had re-entered summer, and Arya’s childhood had come flooding back to her.

She didn’t ask about Gendry Baratheon again. The last thing she wanted was people gossiping about her and suggesting that he was the sole reason she returned to the North. But she thought about him constantly. Arya visited the forge where he’d forged weapons before the battle at Winterfell, and the stores where he’d taken her maidenhead. She spent hours remembering every detail of her time on the Kingsroad with him and their time in the Riverlands. 

Arya didn’t even know if Gendry would want to see her after all this time. Had he imagined she’d return? If the rumours were to be believed, he had at one time. By now, she expected word of her return had reached most corners of Westeros. Arya Stark, the Hero of Winterfell, had come back after years in foreign lands. What ridiculous rumours were being spread about her now, she wondered. A young boy approached her to ask if it was true she’d killed a dragon. She heard whisperings that she’d married a western prince, and murdered him in his sleep in order to come back to Westeros.

Having yet to obtain responsibilities or figure out her place in her childhood home, Arya rode for Storm’s End without much notice. 

Upon her first clear sight of the castle, she understood why people said it was so formidable. It was dauntingly huge, with a dangerously high drop into the sea beneath it. When she arrived at the castle and introduced herself, she was met with a predictable amount of slack jaws and confused expressions.

She was dismounting her horse after her tiresome journey when someone began to approach her, not dressed in lord’s clothes but looking strikingly familiar. He wore the same jet black hair and piercing blue eyes as Gendry and bore him a striking resemblance, but was a completely different person. Arya frowned as he approached, taken aback by this stranger.

“You must be Arya Stark,” he spoke, definitely not like Gendry. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

Arya cringed, “I’m not a lady.”

The Gendry-lookalike laughed. “He told me you might say that.”

Arya’s face grew hot as a redness flushed her cheeks.

“Not to worry, Arya Stark, your arrival is welcome. I’ll take you to Lord Gendry.”

“Who are you?” she demanded, passing her horse to a stableboy as Not-Gendry lead the way into the castle.

“Edric Storm,” he explained, “a bastard of Robert Baratheon, like our lord. Except, I grew up here, and was acknowledged nonetheless.”

Arya guffawed, “so why aren’t  _ you  _ the Lord of Storm’s End?”

Edric shrugged, “still a bastard, even if an acknowledged one. If Daenerys Targaryen had spared the time to give me the Baratheon name maybe it would be different.”

Their footsteps echoed as the travelled down stony corridors, passing servants and ladies who whispered without discretion.

“You could write to Bran- I mean, King Bran.” she’d never get used to addressing her brother that way.

“And usurp Gendry? Not worth the hassle, Gendry is a good and just ruler. And we’ve become the brothers we were never able to be. If anything were to happen, I’d be here, and when he needs counsel, I can provide it, as I know the land better than him.”

They reached the grand doors to what Arya presumed was the great hall, where Gendry may have been addressing lords or common folk.

“It’s good that you’re here,” Edric smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“Good things,” he assured her, “but Gendry has been through a lot, Arya. He might be different to how you remember. If the war didn’t harden him, these past few years certainly have. Be… gentle.” Edric advised, voice full of sincerity, just before he pushed open the doors for her.

Seeing Gendry sat upon a throne was felt akin to being in a dream. She found it almost humorous, or she would have if not for the way it somehow suited him now.

His token Baratheon hair was trimmed short, and a dark beard covered his sharp jawline. He sat before his people with a power she’d only seen him carry whilst wielding his warhammer. All eyes fixed on Arya and Edric as they entered, having interrupted whatever had been previously going on, and Arya resisted swearing at Edric for having them enter that way.

“Arya Stark, Lord Gendry.” Edric presented her and was met with silence.

A million thoughts raced through her mind. Did he recognise her? Had she changed too much? Her hair was longer, that was sure, but if he looked closer he’d see that her hands were rougher, her skin more scarred, her face weathered. Perhaps she should’ve dressed as Sansa suggested, in a dress and not in riding gear, but she’d wanted to travel to the Stormlands alone, not accompanied by a guard of strangers.

Gendry’s eyes were glued to her, wide and unmoving. Arya squirmed nervously. She struggled with her emotions to regain control, and stalked ahead of Edric right up to Gendry’s seat before the lords and ladies.

“Your lord,” she bowed before him, unsure of what else to do. His stunned silence was unnerving but she could hardly blame him. He must’ve known she was coming, but maybe not as abruptly as this.

Shaking himself awake from his shock, Gendry jerked up from his seat. “M’lady,” he said, bowing before Arya instead.

The people in the hall murmured lowly, and Arya bit down on her lip to keep herself from smirking. 

“Leave us, please.” he said at once, asking for the hall to be cleared. Arya stood in the middle of it all as his people filtered out quickly, leaving her alone with Gendry for the first time in more than four years.

As soon as the door to the hall closed and the echo rang among the ceiling, Gendry fell from the steps of the throne and wrapped his strong arms around her. He always had been one to think with his heart rather than his head. She slowly brought her own arms around him, breathing in his scent and focusing on the rhythm of his beating chest against her body.

“You’re here.” he breathed against her hair.

“I am.”

He released her suddenly, stepping back and taking her in.

“You look-”

“If you say  _ good _ I swear to the-”

Gendry barked a laugh, “you look beautiful, Arya.”

“You look old.”

He laughed again, looking delirious with disbelief and excitement.

“You must have so much to tell me.” he wondered. “You’ve been gone so long.”

“Too long?”

They both fell silent.

“You did what you needed to do. You were true to yourself.” Gendry nodded at her, reciting lines that Arya could only imagine he’d told himself a hundred times, and made himself believe.

“I don’t regret leaving,” she admitted, “but I wish I’d have been here.”

He raised a brow, “ _ here _ as in Westeros, or  _ here  _ as in Storm’s End, m’lady?”

Before she could even consider her response, the grand doors opened again, and a septa rushed in clutching a tiny child.

“Oh, I’m sorry to bother you, m’lord,” the septa’s face grew red, “she’s just been crying for you for hours now.”

“It’s alright, Septa Airis. Bring her here.”

Arya stared at the babe in the woman’s arms, just as red faced as her septa from crying. The babe had the same dark hair as Gendry, already thick and long, but with warm brown eyes instead. She wept until she was placed in the muscled arms of her father, who rocked her gently and stroked the soft hair on her head.

“She’s…” 

“A handful,” Gendry laughed airily. “I’ll take her, septa. I’ll fetch after you later.”

The woman nodded and scurried from the hall, leaving Arya and Gendry alone with the babe who had now quietened, looking up at her father with wide eyes full of wonder.

“What’s her name?” Arya asked, something hard lodged in her throat at the sight of a baby in Gendry’s arms, and how natural it looked. 

“Shireen, after my cousin. Although I never met her, Davos Seaworth told me of her bravery, kindness and intelligence. She was treated as little more than a bastard by some for her scars, and deserved to live a full and happy life. I wanted to honour her memory,” he grinned at the little girl, who was now babbling happily, “and Davos approved, of course.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all Arya managed to say, unable to take her eyes off the child. 

Gendry drew his lips into a thin line. “Nothin’ for you to be sorry for, Arya.”

“If I’d have stayed-”

“Then I wouldn’t have Shireen, and she makes my life worth living everyday. She reminds me of why I must rule the Stormlands, and fight to make it a better, kinder place for bastards and noblemen alike.”

Tears brimmed in Arya’s eyes, but she forced herself to maintain a strong composure.

“Would you tell me about her?” she asked.

“She was a good wife. Lehna, of House Ashford. It was a good match too, really. She was close to my age, and pretty and kind. But it was just something we both had to do, and she deserved a fat bloody lot better than me. I could never truly love her, not when my heart still belonged to someone who was a sea away. But, gods be damned, I did my best. Just wasn’t enough.” 

Arya reached out her hand, resting her palm on his cheek.

“None of it was your fault, you know that.”

She felt his head lean in to her touch gently. His eyes closed, and he held baby Shireen closer.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Arya.” he murmured. “I’ve dreamt it a hundred times over. And I’ve had time to understand why you refused me, and how stupid I was to ask you so soon. The courage and foolishness given to me by wine and victory disappeared soon enough, and I damned myself. But I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Shireen babbled quietly, her stubby fingers reaching up, wanting to grab at Gendry’s beard. They both smiled, and Gendry looked suddenly the same as he had when she was only thirteen years of age. She’d looked at him then with confused affection, and often annoyance. They’d been naive, and naive again when she was old enough to give herself to him years later. Time could ebb away at them, but Arya still saw the same boy who’d protected her from the Gold Cloaks, who then couldn’t read or spell, who was just a boy from Flea Bottom and who reminded her of the home she found when she was thrust from her old one. If she’d said yes to Gendry, maybe he would’ve been cradling their daughter. Maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad.

 

She said it to him later, in his chambers.

They’d both gone up there together, uncaring what whispers came about. Whatever people said, they’d probably said about them before. Gendry’s room was bigger than her own at Winterfell, and a huge bed sat in the centre, draped in Baratheon yellow bedding. Arya thought of the nights he’d spent in it with Lehna Ashford, and the nights he’d spent in it alone after she’d died. She wondered if he’d bedded any whores in it since, or any noble ladies. Gendry was one of the most handsome young lords she’d seen, and wouldn’t have been surprised if ladies were fighting over marriages with him across Westeros. She wondered these things but she didn’t care; she was there, in his room, with him now. That was all that mattered.

He was undoing the strings of her blouse when it came out, slipping from her mouth as she repeated it in her head.

“I love you.”

Gendry’s fingers froze, ghosting over the skin he was about to expose. He’d seen her naked before, but she was more nervous this time than the first. Back then, she had felt brazen and bold, sure of what she wanted. She was still sure of Gendry, but this time everything felt gentler.

She’d never said it to him before. Not when he declared his love for her at Winterfell, and not when she left to cross the Sunset Sea. He surged closer to her, slanting his lips across hers and holding her flush against his chest. After he’d shrugged off her shirt and his own noble robes, she let his hands roam the plains of her body. 

Womanhood had eventually become her. She was more curved than Sansa, and more fuller chested. The scars that he’d seen the first time they went to bed together had multiplied, but now some were covered with black inked marks she’d gotten painted on her body in the west. She loved that her body and mind both told stories; Arya Stark wore her trials, travels and tribulations on her skin for all to see and wonder at, because she was proud of where she’d been.

She’d slept with a handful of people in the past four years, but Gendry’s cock still had her flinching as he slid into her. He stroked the hair out of her eyes, scanning her face to make sure she was okay. Urging him on, she grabbed at his shoulder blades and pushed her body into his. Gendry couldn’t drink her in fast enough. He planted kisses everywhere he could reach as they set a rhythm, and Arya replied by leaving bruises on his neck with her mouth that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of tomorrow. For another night, they were just Arya and Gendry, shouldering no responsibilities or noble names.

As he had their first night together, Gendry pulled away from her before his seed could spread inside her and take root. He kissed her temple and wrapped her close against him, and Arya was happy to be compliant. She woke up when the sun had risen, feeling safe and comforted in the arms of the Lord of Storm’s End. 

Arya spent a week at the castle before deciding that life without Gendry by her side wasn’t what she wanted. He was the type of man who wouldn’t stop her from being free, from being her own person and having her own mind. She didn’t think many others would ever be that lucky, and she reminded herself to be blessed that someone like Gendry loved someone as wild as Arya. She wrote to Sansa and told her that they would be married.

Loving Shireen was no task at all. Arya had never been taken with babies, or thought herself particularly good with them. That was always Sansa’s area. Through Gendry’s encouragement, and Septa Airis’ advice, Arya began to dote on Shireen every moment she could. The baby girl was loud and playful, and watching Gendry with her lit a maternal urge in her that had her that Arya didn’t think she had. Thought their wedding plans were not for a few more weeks, the next time Gendry took Arya to bed, she asked him not to pull away. 

Shireen would never know her mother, too young to have lasting memories of her, but Gendry vowed to not let his daughter forget her. Arya would treat the girl as her own, and Shireen would not lose her place in the succession to any children Arya bore to Gendry, this she swore on her honour. Shireen Baratheon would not be lost to history again.

Her sister was elated when Arya’s stomach began to swell, and Arya knew Sansa would be the greatest aunt a child could ever wish for. She birthed four children, three with hair dark and one with hair as fiery as Sansa and her late mother. The redhead boy they named Robb, the girl Alysanne and the other two boys were named Lucan and Eddard. They were wolves and stags in their own right, and Arya loved every one of them. They never saw Shireen as anything other than their older sister.

Every night, they begged Arya to tell them the tales of her travels and life. She’d divulge them occasionally, secretly revelling in the excited and entranced looks on her children's faces. And Gendry would join them, staring at his wife with the same love and admiration he had harboured for her for years.

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoyed!! i was too lazy as usual to beta etc so if u see any mistakes i wont be offended by u pointing them out lol<3  
> and im sure there'll be many cause i type too fast for my own good  
> follow my writing twitter [cvbeswaters](https://twitter.com/cvbeswaters) or on tumblr at [stacygwehn](https://stacygwehn.tumblr.com)


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